Even the Stars Shall Fade
by darkdaysofsummer
Summary: The time of the Eldar is ending. With war looming, what will it take to find peace in the world...or the soul? A Rivendell warrior sets out to answer this question and save the woman he loves. Love is a strong force, but is it enough? One thing is certain, by the end, no one's world will be the same. Edited and reposted 2/20/13.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: As of 2/20/12 Sorry to anyone previously following this, but I had deleted it and am now reposting it. I've made some editing changes so you may want to look the chapters over as it will affect the story. **

**I don't own LOTR. I can only dream of ever creating stories as epic as them. **

When Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand, the Dark Lord's body disintegrated and his spirit shattered. Part of that spirit remained in the form of the giant eye at the top of Barad-Dur. But a small part of him disappeared. No one knew what became of that missing piece of his spirit. As the centuries passed, it was forgotten. Those few who did possibly remember disregarded it as insignificant.

How very wrong they were. For even the smallest of things can make the largest of changes.

…

"Anaya is leaving" said Bergalan. The old elf looked down in sorrow at the thought of his only child. He slowly turned his grey eyes back to the one in front of him. "She feels naught but grief anymore; no amount of sunlight brightens her world. She asks if you would escort her to the Grey Havens."

"She means to sail?" whispered Gorlan, his daughter's childhood friend and one Bergalan considered as his own son.

Before Bergalan could respond, the younger elf leapt to his feet and burst out: "No! She cannot! I will follow her to the Grey Havens if she tries to leave, but only to tie her to my horse and drag her back!"

"Gorlan," Bergalan sighed. "It is her choice. She is unhappy here; let her go where she may find peace."

"What of you, her father? She is your daughter. You cannot possibly want her to go!" came the shouted reply.

"I do not wish her to leave, but if it meant her grief subsided, then yes, I believe she should go. I would rather she be a thousand leagues away and happy, then right beside me and in pain."

Gorlan shook his head. "I cannot think that way. I do not think I'm strong enough to let her go."

…

The subject of Bergalan and Gorlan's conversation, the elf lady Anaya, lay along the gilded couch on one of the many balconies in Rivendell. One pale hand draped over the edge of the couch, dangling limply a few inches from the ground. Her typically gleaming hair was fading to a dull flaxen, her pale blue eyes held no light, and the only color in her skin was the barest touch of pink in her lips.

A cool autumn breeze blew through the valley, stirring Anaya's hair and bringing the scent of rain to her nose. Several fallen leaves lifted and blew up onto her chest and lingered there. Yet there was no reaction from the figure on the couch.

A sting of pain and fear pierced Gorlan's heart when he came and saw her lying as if death had already taken her.

"Anaya, _Arwenamin_!" he cried, rushing to her side. He fell to his knees beside the couch and clasped the cold hand that lay over the side.

Finally, the anguished lady reacted to something. Her eyes opened and her head turned slowly towards his voice.

"Gorlan," she whispered, voice strained from disuse. "_Mellon nin, _why do cry out for me? I was standing on the edge of the white shore, the foam rushing around my feet. I was ready to leap into the waves and your voice called me back. Why will you not let me go?"

"You were dreaming, Anaya. You are still in Rivendell. And it would gladden my heart if you remained, so much so you cannot possibly imagine."

Anaya sighed, turning her gaze to stare at the sky.

"I cannot. My heart is in so much pain, and I do not even know why. All I know is I cannot take it anymore. I feel the life leaving my body even now."

Gorlan had been raised and hardened as a warrior. Yet his experiences with warfare were nothing compared to this. Lying before him was the woman he'd always cared for, the one he always looked forward to returning to after a long journey, and now…she was dying. It was obvious she was fading. The thought of losing her filled him with more terror than the thought of facing down a Balrog unarmed.

_She is fading…she is dying. _

And he had never told her he loved her.

"Anaya," he whispered. He kissed the back of her hand, feeling the iciness of skin against his lips. He did not know what else to say to her, what else he could possibly do. Anything he could possibly say seemed in vain.

He stayed kneeling by her side, clutching her limp hand, until the sun faded behind the mountains. Anaya did not move or speak to him again in that time, her heart as dim and cold as the night.

…

Gorlan stood on one of the terraces overlooking the Bruinen. The stream of water roared as it cut through the valley below, carving out a path with nothing to stop it.

The dark-haired elf sighed. Life was not so simple. To carve a path for oneself, and be able to follow it was easy to say, maybe even to plan, but not so easy to do.

The mid-morning sun shone down onto the Elf Haven, warming the autumn day. He'd stayed at Anaya's side into the night, but by the time the moon had risen over the mountains and moved into the east, he'd dropped her hand and left. She'd lain there like a corpse on a funeral bed-cold, silent, still. He'd wandered through the darkened halls feeling grief reach into his own heart and diminish his spirit. The entire night he went without rest, until the sun rose over the Misty Mountains, and some small amount of peace came back into his heart.

He did not want to give up hope. He wanted to believe Anaya could be saved, that he could convince her of a reason to stay in Middle-Earth, even for a little while. He knew one day all the Elves, himself included, would pass over the sea to the Undying Lands. But why now? Twenty-five hundred years was but a small while to an elf, but it was his entire lifetime he'd spent in Middle-Earth. It was the only home he'd ever known and truthfully, he was loathe to leave it.

He felt selfish admitting it, but one of the main reasons he did not want Anaya to leave was because he himself was not ready to go, and he couldn't imagine a life without her. If she left, she would be gone, until he finally followed her. If she stayed, there was the possibility her spirit would simply fade away and she would die. Either way, he'd lose her.

Was it selfish of him to want her to stay because of the love he bore her? But there was always the possibility she did not confer feelings back to him. It may have been a different matter if she did, but alas for him, that was not the case.

A bell tolled in the distance, its clear notes interrupting the calm of the morning. Gorlan had heard rumors—Lord Elrond was planning something. Bilbo the Elf-Friend have arrived in Rivendell some time beforehand and just a week ago Estel and four hobbits, one of them—Bilbo's own relative it turned out—was wounded by a dark blade and healed by Lord Elrond. In the past few days other strangers arrived to Imladris including a stern man from Gondor, some dwarves, and three elves from the Kingdom of Mirkwood, one whom he recognized as their Prince.

Yes, something was definitely going on, and it was not a party. There were whispers of an evil power growing, a threat invading the free people of Middle-Earth.

Was it possible this evil somehow affected Anaya? Her descent into grief and despair had seemed so sudden, like a sharp wind rising and falling instantly over a plain. What if it had not been sudden and he had simply been blind? Had this torture affected Anaya's heart and soul for months or years and it was only just now he was realizing it?!

_What a friend you are, Gorlan! The woman you claim to love has been in pain and sorrow and yet you did not recognize it! _

Never in two and a half millennia had Gorlan felt so conflicted. His mind told him it was wrong and selfish of him to keep Anaya from Vailnor. Going there meant a life away from all the grief and despair she felt. She would spend eternity in peace alongside the Valar, and never again be troubled by the woes of a mortal world.

But his heart could not accept it. He did not know when his friendship with Anaya had deepened into love, but only that was stronger than any ocean waves that would bear her ship away.

Another bell tolled, signaling the noon hour. The elf was startled, not realizing how long he'd stood on the terrace lost in thought.

In all his mulling and despair, he knew only some things for certain: his love for Anaya was true, as was his desire for her to be with him, and he would do anything within his power to save her from the darkness that made its way into her soul.

….

Leaves turned to gold and flaming red and fell as autumn continued. Eventually, it faded into the beginning of winter, though cold and snow did not penetrate the elves' valley home. A number of scouts and messengers had returned to Rivendell and Gorlan among them, for Lord Elrond had sent him with a party north into the Ettenmoors, though when he returned he would not speak to her of it.

Anaya could not blame him. She'd been cold and distance, often avoiding him, and nearly everyone in fact and only was around others if they sought her out. She tried to fight what has in her heart and soul, the darkness, the pain, and the fear, but even with her Elven strength she was succumbing, and quickly.

The worst part of it all was she could not comprehend how or when these feelings came to her. The pain had simply entered her, and like a ravenous wolf, was intent on devouring her soul. She was terrified, yet kept her fear and pain locked inside. She could not explain the feeling, though she wondered if this was how a mortal felt when they were ill and dying.

She was dying, she feared, for she felt life leaving her. Physically, life was draining from her body. Her chest ached, she felt unusually weary and cold all the time. She did not have an appetite, nor could she sleep at night. This was not normal for one of the Eldar; they did not get ill as mortals did. Her very soul was suffering, and through that, took its toll on her body.

A shadow passed into her mind as the sun faded out of sight. It overran her mind with twisted thoughts and malice. She would lie in a daze, unable to fully slip into Elven dreams and rest. But she could not explain it; she could not tell of it.

Her father recognized the pain in her heart, seeing her physical self diminish. He'd questioned her, monitored her, even begged her, trying to understand her pain and provide her comfort. But he could not. Gorlan had tried as well, for he had always been her best and most loyal friend, but she could not explain her pain.

She feared it was contagious, that somehow her pain might pass to those closest to her. That caused her even more grief—that she would be the cause of her loved ones' own sorrows. Guilt racked her body every time she thought of it. Sometimes the pains were so great, they would overtake her mind, and consume her with the most terrible of feelings—enough that sometimes she wanted to run and cast herself off the mountainside into the river below and end all the pain. Of course, that was a ridiculous solution, one she almost always quickly dismissed, for what would cause them more grief than if one of the Firstborn took their own lives?

…

Gorlan was in his room, eyeing the edge of his sword. He ran the whetstone over it again, determined it was not sharp enough. Finally satisfied, he sheathed it in its ornate leather scabbard and went through his mental list.

He'd decided to leave Rivendell again. He had to do _something_ to help Anaya and sitting around the Homely House wasn't it. He mentioned it to Bergalan, though he did not explain exactly why he was going. He didn't need to as the wise, older elf could guess simply by looking into his eyes.

He shuffled through the saddlebags again for a third time, feeling as if something was being forgotten. He wasn't bringing much; a simple change of clothes, a cloak, some _lembas_ wrapped in leaves, a waterskin. He had more with weapons, bringing his sword, Narding, that originally belonged to his father and had been wielded during the Last Alliance, his long dagger, a pair of second, smaller knives—one on the back of his belt, one in his boot—and a bow and quiver filled with two dozen arrows. It was a dangerous world beyond the safety of Rivendell and he needed to be well armed.

"My father says you are leaving us. Why?" a soft voice from the doorway asked.

Gorlan turned. Anaya was standing in the doorway, pale and downcast. He was unsure what to say to her. It had been one thing to tell Bergalan; the older elf was not only the father of the one he loved, but had also been his captain on missions and acted as a second father to him since his own parents perished.

Finally, he spoke the first words that came to mind. "Evil is spreading in the world, Anaya. I go to fight it. I cannot stay here when I could be out making a difference." This was true enough, though he was still unable to tell her she was the main reason for his departure. He gazed into her blue eyes. Was it possible she guessed it?

If she did, it did not show. She spoke to him in a quiet, weary voice. "The Age of Men is coming. Our time—the elves' time—is drawing to a close. Why can you not accept this?"

"Because…because I cannot accept a fate that has been decided for me. I feel no longing to leave just yet."

Anaya shook her head slowly, her loose hair gently swaying around her face. "You cannot put off the inevitable, nor change fate. It will come to pass; you know this. Even you will one day pass over the sea."

With a brief, forlorn gaze into his eyes, she turned and silently made her way out of the room.

…

Gorlan stood in the courtyard before the sun even rose, saddling Voronwer by the light of a flickering torch. The tall grey stallion looked at him with curious eyes, as if wondering what his friend had planned for them. Gorlan was dressed in simple traveling clothes and sturdy boots, his only armor a pair of vambraces along his forearms and spaulders on his shoulders. A deep blue cloak hung around him. His hair was down, brushed back off his face, which was frozen in a determined scowl. His knives hung from his belt and his bow and quiver were on his back. Narding hung from the saddle.

He was not the only one to be leaving Rivendell. The Fellowship of the Ring was scheduled to leave tomorrow evening. That was what Elrond had been preparing two months ago when all the strangers showed up. The Ring—the One Ring!—had fallen into the hands of a hobbit, and now that hobbit, his three friends, Estel, Mithrandir, Legolas of Mirkwood, a dwarf, and the Gondorian man were setting off on a quest to Mt. Doom to destroy it. It was most likely a suicide mission, everyone knew, but that little piece of gold had caused more anguish and destroyed more lives than one would think possible. For the sake of the world, it had to be destroyed.

Gorlan wished he could accompany them; after all, they were setting out to stop the world's greatest threat—Sauron the Deceiver. If there was one way to destroy the evil of the world, that had to be it. But Gorlan had not been invited to the Council of Elrond and he had not been chosen as one of the companions. He would have to set out and forge his own path and play a part on his own.

In all honesty, Gorlan hadn't been quite sure were to start. It wasn't as if he could ride straight into Mordor, slaughtering every orc, goblin, and foul beast that got it his way and expect anything to come of it. He'd debated and decided if there was anyone who might be able to provide him with aid, it would be Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. Perhaps her wisdom could provide answers or at least comfort. He'd been to Lorien many times before, often as an escort of Lady Arwen when she went to visit her grandparents.

"Gorlan, why do seem intent to sneak away in the dawn hours?" A gentle male voice from the stairs broke through the morning quiet. Estel, Aragorn foster-son of Elrond stood behind him, a curious look on his face. He was already dressed in his typical weather-stained Ranger clothing, sword scabbard hanging casually from his hand.

"Gorlan, wait another day", the heir of Isuildur said. "Leave tomorrow with us. Accompany us south. We are headed in the same direction and could use an extra pair of keen eyes and experienced hands on our journey. You can break off and go your own way later, if you so wish."

Gorlan turned from where he was adjusting Voronwer's saddle. Of course, he wished he could go with them, but to intrude would be improper. They were going on a quest he knew little about, a group of nine people, most of them strangers to each other, for the sake of the world. No, he was simply an elf-warrior from Rivendell, not a Wizard, a Prince, an heir to a kingdom-just an Elf.

"I was not made a member of the Fellowship; I do not feel it would be appropriate if I joined you. Were I worthy of being a part of the Council or Fellowship, I would have been appointed so. As I am not, I must decline your offer, though I will thank you for proposing it."

"Gorlan, I know you and I have never been the closest of friends; that we have been ever at most acquaintances, but I am sincere my offer. Member of the Fellowship or not, I'm sure you can accompany us a little ways. No one will mind…except perhaps Gimli, the Dwarf." Aragorn replied with a small smile.

"I am sorry Aragorn Estel, but I have my own matters to attend to. I must go on my own path, as you must do yours." Gorlan stated firmly.

Aragorn's smile faded. "If that is what you choose…then I wish you luck. _May the Valar watch over you." _

"_And you." _Gorlan nodded to the man, then swung up on Voronwer. Aragon returned the gesture and walked away.

"Gorlan!" Another voice cried out; it seemed someone else was determined to stop him. He sighed, but quickly dismounted when he saw who it was.

It was Anaya. She strode right up to him and looked him in the eye.

"I came to tell you goodbye. I will not stop you from going, thought you do not show me the same."

"Anaya…"

Cutting him off, she held out a piece of folded leather to him. It was a sturdy leather jerkin, finely made, with leaf designs carved into the front.

"I made this for you." Anaya said softly. "It is dangerous out in the wild. I know a lot of armor would only slow you down, so I made this as light and flexible as possible." She pushed the jerkin into his hands.

The leather felt as soft as velvet, yet was as strong as chain-mail. He put it on over his tunic and was unsurprised to find it fit perfectly.

"_Hannon le_", he thanked her. "I will treasure this, for it came from the hands of the fairest lady in Middle-Earth."

Despite her pale, drawn complexion, Gorlan could have sworn Anaya blushed. "That title belongs to Lady Arwen" she insisted.

"If you insist. The _second_ fairest lady in Middle-Earth. Regardless, I thank you for the gift. Surely it will keep me safe from any stray orc arrows."

The casual, carefree tone suddenly dropped as the seriousness of the world beyond Rivendell presented itself. He could very well die out there. He could never come back.

Unable to leave her without something of his, he pressed his ring into her hands. It was silver, with a dark blue stone in the center. The ring had belonged to his grandfather and had been passed down to him. The ring and his sword were the only things he had from his parents.

Anaya shook her head sadly. "I cannot take this." The silver circlet she was wearing caught and reflected the light of the torches around them. Her pale blue gown helped her look as if she had some color to her, but nothing could disguise the look in her eyes. Fear, pain, and sadness. They swirled around in the blue pool, turning it cloudy.

"I insist. Keep it for me."

The fair lady clutched the ring, then turned as if she was going to run away, but Gorlan grabbed her thin hand.

"Anaya…promise me something? Promise me you will not leave until I return."

Cloudy blue orbs stared into his gray ones. In a trembling voice, she asked, "And what if you do not return?"

There was no point in false reassurances. "Then promise me at least that you will go on and find happiness and peace, not grief and despair. Even" he swallowed. "…even if that does mean sailing."

"I cannot promise anything."

"Why are you now so cold?" Gorlan cried. "I would give all the life I possess to see you warm again. I miss the elleth I once knew."

Anaya's eyes were now on the ground. "She is still here. She is just lost."

Gorlan placed his fingers under her chin and gently lifted her head so he could stare into her eyes. "Then maybe you should let someone find her."

On a sudden bit of impulsiveness, while he still held her face in his hand, he leaned down and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips.

"Farewell, Anaya._ My heart shall weep until it sees thee again_". Then he touched her cheek and left, not knowing when, or if, he'd see her again.

**Because I do not feel like translating a bunch of Elvish, it will be in **_**italics**_**, unless its stuff most LOTR readers would know (hannon le-thank you, Ada-Dad, etc.). Assume any Elvish in here is Sindarian. **

**Please let me know what you think. Thanks. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Big thanks to LalaithElerrina for being my first reviewer and for giving me great advice on how to proceed with the story! **

The thought crossed Gorlan's mind as he made his way south. There was no guarantee the Lady of the Golden Wood would even bother to speak with him. After all, she was a great Elvish queen, and he was not one of her subjects, but a simple warrior under the rule of her son-in-law. Even if she did speak with him, would she have any answers? What if the trip was in vain? What would he do then?

These thoughts swirled around in his head all day. The more he thought about it, the more reckless and pointless the quest seemed. What could he possibly do for Anaya to help her that another couldn't? Perhaps the best option would simply be to return home and let her sail. Accept the fact that she would not be with him they way he wanted her to and let her go.

But, alas, his heart simply refused to think that way. Whoever said following your heart was the best thing to do, must have never been in such predicaments. Or they were an idiot.

He stopped in a small clearing at midday. He removed his pack and sword and loosened the saddle girth and removed the bit, so his horse would be more comfortable. Being an elf, he carried very little with him. Some lembas wrapped in leaves and a small bit of grain for Voronwer, a clean tunic, a waterskin, a whetstone for his blades, and the necessary equipment for his bow and arrows.

While Voronwer rested, Gorlan mulled over Aragorn's offer, wondering if he should have accepted it. He reminded himself he had nothing to do with the council and their concerns were not the same as his. No, it was better that he refused. He had to follow his own path.

Speaking of paths, what would be the fastest route to Lorien? It would take a couple of weeks to reach Lorien and he needed to cross the Misty Mountains before the snow on them got worse. If the snows were too bad, he'd be trapped on the west side of the mountains for weeks until the thaw. Well, if it was that bad, he could always send Voronwer home and cross on foot. The ability to walk on snow could be pretty useful. But traveling on foot would still slow him down, meaning it would take just as long, if not longer, than if he made it through the pass without any delay.

He mounted and set off again, heading south, traveling in the shadow of the mountains. He knew the Fellowship was leaving tomorrow night, so he would have a day or two ahead of them. Especially because of their large group, and the inexperienced hobbits, they'd have to make more stops, and their travel would be hindered.

Some time later, the sound of clashing weapons interrupted his thoughts. As a precaution, he loosened his sword and took an arrow from his quiver, laying it on the string. The sounds grew louder as he headed forward. In a clearing in the woods, half a dozen orcs gathered around a single man, who crouched on the ground, clutching a knife. A bay horse paced nervously around him.

Gorlan realized the person would never be able to fend off all the creatures on their own. With a Elvish war cry erupting from his lips, he shot the nearest orc through the throat. The foul creature fell and Gorlan had another arrow on the string before its companions even realized what happened. Another fell. The person, who'd still been on the ground, took advantage of the distraction to leap up and stab two orcs. There were two more remaining. One rushed at Gorlan, a massive battle-axe in its hand. Realizing it was too close for a proper shot, Gorlan dropped his bow and drew his sword, simultaneously urging Voronwer forward. With a yell, he swung the blade, slicing into the creature's throat. It froze for the briefest moment, then dropped face down, lifeless. Turning Voronwer around, Gorlan saw the traveler had dispatched the remaining orc and was wiping his blade clean.

He nodded to Gorlan. "Thank you for the aid." He grinned. "I thought for a moment I was going to be orc-meat."

Gorlan returned the nod. "You're welcome." He studied the person. He was obviously human. The man was tall, though not at the stature of an elf, and sturdy. He had a short, dark beard and shoulder-length hair that was streaked with sweat. Dark hazel eyes watched the elf under thick brows. His clothes were dark brown, rough, and stained, suggesting he'd been on the road for a while. Along with his knife, a hatchet hung from his belt. A larger axe was attached to his horse's saddle.

"May I ask who you are?" the man asked. He went over to check his horse and glanced up, waiting for an answer. Gorlan considered him. He had no idea who the man was or where he came from. For all he knew, he was a spy. But the man's question seemed out of genuine curiosity and there appeared to be no maliciousness towards him. Normally, Gorlan would feel unsettled if the person was indeed evil, but he felt none of that here. He decided to answer truthfully.

"I am Gorlan, son of Laegal, and a warrior from the Elven-realm of Rivendell."

The man paused to digest that introduction. "Don't think I've ever met an elf before." He gave a slight bow. "I'm honored to be in the presence of an immortal."

Gorlan inwardly cringed at the man's reaction and tried to not let it show. Some mortals acted so in awe of the Elves, it both flattering and irritating.

The man spoke again. "I am Hafad, son of Argend. I was born in a small town in Gondor, but I've never really called anywhere my home, I've been travelling so long. I guess up North is the closest thing I've got to a home."

Gorlan now understood the man's dark clothes, how similar they were to Aragorn's. "You are a Ranger from the North, aren't you?"

"That I am. Not even sure why anymore. It's just what I do. Tell me, elf, why do you travel in these parts alone? It's dangerous."

Gorlan burst out laughing for the first time in weeks. "Dangerous, yes. But clearly I can fend for myself. You on the other hand…"

Hafad's face darkened before he realized the elf was teasing, then he too laughed. "Aye, what a warrior I am! Almost eaten by orcs!"

There was a pause in their conversation until Hafad spoke again. "So where are you headed, Gorlan, son of Laegal? I myself am headed south towards Minas Tirith. I wouldn't object to friendly company, if you're willing."

Gorlan considered this. It was dangerous times and a traveling companion could prove beneficial. They were both heading in the same direction and Hafad seemed trustworthy enough. Even if he proved otherwise, Gorlan felt confident enough in his abilities to care for himself.

"I would be glad of company, Hafad, son of Argend."

…

The remaining time traveling south was completely uneventful. The two saw no one else, though they were always on the lookout for possible orc patrols. Because of the threat, did not risk keeping a fire, and a sharp wind blowing over from the mountains did little to help the journey.

At last the border of Lorien came into view. A sea of green and gold stretched out before them, bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun. The two companions pulled up their mounts, overlooking the land.

"This," said Hafad "is where I will leave you."

The elf looked at him in surprise. "You will not enter? Do you not wish to see elves? You seemed interested in them."

"I do find your kind interesting, but I prefer the company of humans. Not that I haven't enjoyed yours!" he added as an afterthought. "It's just I don't think I could live among elves for an extended period of time."

Gorlan nodded. "Well then, I've appreciated your company. Perhaps we will meet again, Hafad. Good luck to you in your journey and Godspeed."

"And to you as well."

Though he'd only traveled with Hafad for a few days, he felt strangely lonely as he made his way towards the border. He hadn't realized how much he'd miss having companionship with someone. As he rode under the canopy of trees, he admired their beauty and strength, even in such dark times. He'd acted as part of Lady Arwen's escort before on her visits to Lorien, so the way wasn't foreign to him. Hopefully, those at the gates of Cara Galadhon would acknowledge him and allow him entry.

After about an hour's travel through the woods, Gorlan sensed the presence of other elves nearby. A scouting party most likely. Though he'd gotten along with the elves of Lorien well enough before, he loosened his sword anyway. It didn't hurt to be cautious, should they decide they did not want intruders.

It was a scouting party, as he'd correctly assumed; he could see them coming through the trees. Recognizing the elf at the front, he cried out _"Mae govannan, Haldir of Lorien. How fares the Golden Wood?" _

The elves paused in front of him, hearing their own tongue. The leader strode forward, his golden hair streaming over his shoulders. His gray eyes glinted in the light.

"_Gorlan of Rivendell. It has been a long time. What brings you to our woods?" _

"_I have come to seek the wisdom and guidance of the Lady Galadriel. My friend, Lady Anaya, is mysteriously ill; not even Lord Elrond seems certain as to what plagues her. I have hoped to find some way to help her." _

"_And you believe the Lady of the Golden Wood will have the answers you seek?" _

"_I hope, for it is all I have." _

The response must have been satisfactory for the Warden as he allowed Gorlan to accompany them back to the city.

"I will inform the Lady of your arrival and your desire to speak with her. But then you must wait until she summons you." Haldir stated as they entered the city.

Gorlan made sure Voronwer was comfortably stabled before retreating to the room provided for him during his stay. He was grateful for the chance to rest in a bed instead of the cold ground and for the chance to eat something aside from lembas and water that carried a leathery aftertaste.

Sometime later, one of Haldir's men informed him the Lady was aware of his presence, but that he would have to wait three days to speak with her. On the third day, he was to meet with her. She would send someone to him.

The three days were long. Gorlan tried to pass the time by thinking over and planning what he would do afterwards, honing his skills on the training field, and doing anything and everything to keep himself from thinking of Anaya.

Regardless of his efforts, he couldn't stop wondering about her. How was she faring? Was she worse? What if she had left for the Grey Havens? Deep in his heart he knew leaving was in fact best for her. He knew if he truly loved her, he needed to let her go. But his heart desperately wanted to cling to her; he wanted to cling to her and never let her go.

The third day finally arrived. A female elf came to him one evening and announced the Lady Galadriel was ready to see him. She led him silently through the dark halls into an area of the city he did not recognize. She stopped and gestured for him to go down a set of stairs. "At the bottoms of the stairs go through the arch of the right. She is there, waiting."

Gorlan swiftly followed the directions. Entering into a small, private grove he saw a fountain in the center underneath a massive tree. Standing off to the side, clad in glittering white, stood the Lady herself. She stood tall, fair, and proud, her golden hair flowing down to her waist. Blue eyes filled with wisdom reflected the starlight. She extended a long, pale hand to him in greeting.

Gorlan bowed to the Elvish Queen.

"I already know why you have come" Galadriel said. She spoke softly, though her smooth, deep voice filled the space of the grove. "You come here for the sake of one you love."

"Yes, my lady. She suffers and I wish to help her. I hoped you might have answers."

"Anaya's suffering is unnatural. I do not know how to help her."

Gorlan looked at the lady, forlorn. "But…you are the wisest of all the Eldar in Middle-earth. If there is anyone capable of knowing how to help her, shouldn't it be you?"

"Even the wisest have limitations. Not even I can see or know everything."

The dark-haired elf looked at her in despair. Was it really all for nothing?

Galadriel glanced away for a moment, then looked him in the eyes. "Would you care to look in the mirror? Perhaps it will show you answers for what you seek." She gestured to the fountain in front of her.

Gorlan nodded willingly. He did not know what the mirror would show, but it couldn't hurt to refuse.

The elf queen poured water from a silver pitcher as he approached. He peered into the water. At first, there was nothing but his reflection. Then it grew cloudy and swirled around. As it cleared, he saw the members of the Fellowship heading down the Anduin. He saw Anaya standing in Rivendell, still pale, looking as if death was ready to claim her. He saw a fierce battle on castle ramparts. Then there was Anaya again lying on her bed, still and lifeless. He wanted to call out her name, but no sound would come out.

He jerked away from the mirror violently, not wishing to see anymore.

"You saw her. It is her fate—" .

"It is her fate to die?!" Gorlan shouted, forgetting for a moment who he was addressing. "She is immortal as we are! Why does she suffer? Why must she die? I have seen no physical wound on her. Is her heart broken, because swear to Eru I would fix it!"

"It is neither your duty nor your fate to save her on your own. Some things will come to pass, no matter how we try. There are some things that are part of destiny. "

She turned and began to walk away.

"What must I do?" Gorlan cried after her.

The lady paused and turned to face him.

Soon, another will come. He will provide you with guidance. Do as he says. That may lead you down the path you seek."

**If you're curious as to where the Fellowship is, they are going through the Pass of Caradhas at the time Gorlan arrives in Lorien, and are crossing the Bridge of Khazad-dum when he speaks with Galadriel. **

**Please review and let me know if there's anything I can do to make this story better! **


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